


tiger by the tail

by Tridraconeus



Series: War Scion [2]
Category: Paladins: Champions Of The Realm (Video Game)
Genre: Ambush, Captive Situation, F/F, Flirting, Nonsexual Bondage, War, nonconsensual sedation, war is hell but the enemy commander is still hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 08:42:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12602708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus
Summary: “You’re getting predictable, War Machine.” That was soveryLian, looking down the barrel of her rifle. Ash’s chest ached from the impact of the bullet. That crystal rifle was a powerful heirloom, almost too much of a match for her armor. Almost. “I knew you would come to me.”





	tiger by the tail

**Author's Note:**

> THE FIRST ONE GOT [A M A Z I N G A R T](http://gsquare-art.tumblr.com/post/165284286797/more-lianash-based-off-rinaldoescobars) and well i'm gay and i like these two AND i like the art so i'm back baybee. NOW WITH [EVEN MORE FANTASTIC ART!](http://gsquare-art.tumblr.com/post/167071020312/hey-remember-this-wonderful-ashlian-fic-by)

This battlefield was one that Ash and her vanguard were revisiting. The Magistrate’s army was being pushed out of Crosswind Hold, slowly, steadily, and now more than ever Ash caught glimpses of the Aico woman at the helm of the advancing army. Advancing! Ash’s army should have been the ones advancing. Now, every time they tried to launch an offense, it was turned around neatly on their heads. She’d run from more battles in three months than she had  _ever_.

This time, she was determined to cut the snake at the head. The Scion, this time, would be going down. Ash would see her die herself. She had presence, yes; but even the most regal knight was nothing more than metal and meat when they died. This one, Ash surmised, would be nothing more than a slip of white fabric. The jade hairpin was under her gambleson, a flash of green in a sea of red and blue. Nobody commented. Ash was sure nobody had actually _seen_ it. 

As she received a report of the Scion's troops merely a half hour away, she gathered ten of her best fighters. Ten out of five hundred. They were outnumbered, and badly, but the Magistrate said that reinforcements were coming. They _had_ to be.

“Our mission is to neutralize Aico's agent at all costs. It does not matter if one of our own is in the way. Do your vanguard proud.” They were all ready and willing, faces set in grim casts of determination. Ash hazarded a smile. “Do me proud.”

They nodded, flickers of confidence rippling through the group. Ash raised her fist out, then tapped it against her chest in a stiff salute. “For the Magistrate.”

Her group-- her small group, brave and fearless, echoed the movement. “For the Magistrate!”

Then, she led them off into the thickets skirting the open area of the battlefield. An ambush was not honorable, not in any way. Neither was assassination, and yet Ash was prepared to do both. For the Magistrate, she denied herself _honor_. Her soldiers would understand. Her soldiers, clustered in groups and fortifying what little defenses the time and meager resources allowed them to make, had to understand. She was done standing in the thick of battle watching them be cut down around her. A few of them had siege shields; she passed hers off to a group. 

The Scion's army crested the hill that led to the battleground. Ash signaled to stay in cover; yes, they should scatter when their leader fell. No, they shouldn't be hasty and rush in. She was well protected; from the back, from the front, for all appearances in the thick of it. Her sides, however, were only a couple layers thick and Ash figured they could punch through those defenses without much trouble. The army moved like a well-oiled machine; flowing down into the battlefield and careening into the trenches, into the shields. Cries rent the air. Lian directed her men with calm certainty, unaware of the danger hiding in the thickets a mere handful of yards away. 

Ash gave the signal, and they charged. She cleared a path; tossing soldiers away, some thrown entirely forward. It left a pocket of space in front of the Scion that Ash and her group could occupy, which they did, and in no short order.

It was perfect.

Too perfect. 

By the time Ash realized it was a trap, and that the defenses that should have scattered and crumpled were regrouping, a makeshift corral of guns and pikes hemmed her and her group in a huddle. They flipped to a defensive position smooth as anything, weapons pointed out, Ash facing Lian. She scowled; tugged her flag from its holder. 

“At any cost!” She called, a rallying cry, and her soldiers answered back. They charged. She planted the flag, taking what courage she could from the bright scrap of fluttering fabric. Her chest ached. Ash realized, with a start, that she'd been shot point-blank. By all means she should he dead; but instead a divot stood proud and smoking in her gorget. Lian smiled at her, shook her head. Unperturbed. Ash discarded embarrassment and called upon rage. 

“You’re getting predictable, War Machine.” That was so _very_ Lian, looking down the barrel of her rifle. Ash’s chest ached from the impact of the bullet. That crystal rifle was a powerful heirloom, almost too much of a match for her armor.  _Almost_. “I knew you would come to me.”

The soldiers closed further around her and her small group. Behind her, she heard yelling and screams, and in front of her, she saw the elegant figure of the Scion—the slim lines of her rifle—emanating a golden glow. Ash balked. With a little more time, she could have charged to safety—maybe even into her, and saved her vanguard. She had no time. She’d been  _outmaneuvered_ , and by a royal in a dress at that. She—determined to face a certain death with dignity and no small amount of defiance—raised her cannon to firing position and took aim.

“I’ll never kneel!” 

*

“The Magistrate has no use for a broken war machine.” 

Ash heard it-- taunting, victorious-- as if from far away. A wash of pain puddled in her body and made it entirely impossible to do more than lay still and pray it would end soon, or that someone from her side would trawl the battlefield and bring her back.

No such luck. She'd said it herself, to the new recruits: carry your weight or drown. Those left on the battlefield could trust that they’d stay there.

She expected fear. She hurt too badly to feel it. She cast her gaze to her side—the slack expression of a head met it. Only a head. Ash nearly wanted to throw up. Blood didn’t ooze from the end of it anymore. How long had she been unconscious?

“There's always the chance she could find a way back.” The second voice was younger, concerned. The first person scoffed.

“Then you finish her off and let's get out of here. Lady Lian says it was a total rout, our losses were minimal. I didn't see any of ours in this area.” 

Ash shifted experimentally. It made her muscles scream, the hole in her shoulder thoroughly ache. It was still something. She could move, if only a little. 

“No,” the younger responded. It was a show of decisiveness, speaking sternly to disguise fear. Ash could tell. If he were one of hers--

Well. It was no use thinking in  _ifs_.

The ground crunched as the soldiers started to walk past her. Ash, seeing her opportunity, struck; she seized one around the ankle and tugged him back. He squawked and nearly fell, latching onto his fellow for support. They looked down at her, afraid. Afraid! Her vanguard wouldn't be scared of a  _broken war machine_.

“Cowards,” she spit, hot words tasting of copper, of iron. Her chest heaved from the effort. “Kill me then.” 

She didn't want to bleed out slowly, or worse, starve motionless on the battlefield or be torn apart by scavengers. The crows would come soon enough. Her armor was strong, but it didn't cover her face. 

The man she had by the ankle kicked her. She let go, hand flopping to the ground, curling up like a dying spider. He hurriedly put distance between them. She scowled, tried to reach out again, but she wasn't even strong enough to get off of her belly. The two soldiers shared a look. 

“Hey! Get someone over here!” 

That was the first, galvanized into action by her words. From across the former battlefield she heard a third voice. 

“One of ours?” 

The soldier looked down at her again, hand in the air to flag down his fellow. “No. A prisoner.” 

The third ran over with a medical kit tucked under his arm. “-- _oh_. So--?”

“Put her to sleep and we'll bring her back." 

The medic looked down at her warily, inching closer. Ash snarled and lurched, desperately praying they'd change their minds or just leave-- no such luck.

“Don't touch me!” 

Her body wouldn't  _listen_  to her. The medic knelt down, kit open between his knees, and when he spoke to her it was threaded with sympathy. “You don't have a choice.”

She tried fighting, but in the end she fell asleep. 

*

She’d been given a couple hours to recover; under watch, of course, but it wasn’t as if she could get anywhere. She’d insisted on stripping  _herself_  down to her underclothes—the top only, thankfully, so the medic could dress her shoulder. Her cuirass and faulds stayed beside her. Even in only her gambeson, settled loosely over her front as not to aggravate the wound, she felt relatively protected. By the time two soldiers arrived at the medical tent to take her somewhere, she felt shaky on her feet but not about to pass out anymore. She redressed—the armor aggravated the bandages, but she was used to it. She’d heal fast. She had to. 

She slung her arms around the shoulders of the soldiers sent to escort her. It wasn’t ideal, but better than collapsing, and evidently they were still scared of her. They didn’t drop her or protest, or try and force her to walk on her own. Whatever the medic had used to sedate her hadn’t entirely worn off, either. Her feet caught on each other and the world swayed with every step. The short journey felt like hours and she could barely focus on what was happening or even where she was going. Everything _ached._ Her head felt fuzzy and dull, her body supported almost entirely by the soldiers she was leaning on. By the time they stopped in front of a canvas tent Ash felt about ready to cry with relief.

She didn’t, of course. The guard on the outside dipped his head in acknowledgement of the group and ducked inside. Ash hung her head and let her eyes shut. Whoever it was, she could use the no doubt long wait to center herself.

 “What is it?” The voice drifted from the tent, outwardly calm but laced with tension. Ash felt dread gather over the pain, over her attempted calmness. She heard the rustle of canvas as the tent opened-- she didn't look yet, eyes closed. 

The ground in front of her scuffed. 

“Well,” came the voice again, tenseness dissolved into pleased satisfaction, “what have we here?”

Ash reluctantly opened her eyes to Lian. She was wearing something different now, a red dress wrapped around with white and gold. 

Ash breathed in deeply, trying to center herself again. She needed to respond. She needed to assert that even though the situation was reversed, she wasn't helpless. A threat, maybe. An invitation to test her and see that she was better than the rest. She wouldn't be weak!

“I have your hairpin.” 

*

In the end, Lian took her hairpin back and politely thanked Ash for keeping such good care of it. Heat rose to her cheeks and she said something about honor, and hair, and then Lian said something about having other hairpins.

It was a disaster. The guards helped her off with scraps of her dignity left. Not to the medical tent; she was getting tired of looking at all the injured soldiers, anyway. They found a sturdy buck-and-rail fence at the edge of the camp and tied her there, on her knees with her hands secured behind her back around one of the supports. By now, Ash wasn’t entirely sure what the game was; she’d never played the captive game, didn’t know the rules, and Lian and the others were being less than helpful.

She actually fell asleep in the time it took for the sun to fall and rise again. When she came back to herself the sun was just rising. Boots crunched on the grass.

“I thought you said you would never kneel.”

Ash tossed her head. “And I thought you would do the right thing and kill me before I escaped.”

“You haven’t. I still have time.” Lian’s voice lost no warmth; there was barely any there to begin with, just cool superiority that should have grated on Ash. It didn’t.

“You might have the upper hand right now, but the Magistrate is sending reinforcements. It doesn’t matter what you do. You and your army will be swept up, pushed back, and I’ll laugh.”

Lian tilted her head and changed tack, voice easing from mild condescension to a soft entreaty. “You know that what the Magistrate is doing is wrong.”

“I have my duties,” Ash bit out, defiant. Lian frowned, more disappointed than upset and more calculated than it was a real reaction. That Lian could accurately predict Ash's responses should have been unsettling. It was what got her struck down--  _captured_  in the first place. It was what had her playing into Lian's hand ever since. And-- make no mistake-- that's exactly what she was doing now. She'd decided not to talk. Lian came and made her. She'd decided not to think of her role in the grand scheme. Lian came and  _made_  her, and made her start to regret. 

She, Ash thought, not for the first time, was being talked into a corner. The thought of it prickled uncomfortably. 

“Leave me alone.”

It was a plea, however dressed up as a demand it might have been. Lian sighed.

“Very well. This isn’t over, War Machine.”

She left, back to the camp proper. Ash tugged against the ropes ineffectively. A couple hours later, a guard came over to untie her, change the bandages, let her take care of business and eat; but then it was right back to the fence, and her legs ached at returning to the uncomfortable position. She dozed. She fantasized about the reinforcements bursting into the camp and cutting her free, returning to her vanguard leading the pack.

Nothing happened. She only got sore and hungry as the sun met the treeline and sank below it, streaking the sky oranges. The blasted moon rose into the sky. Lian, again, appeared from the camp with a whisper of soft fabrics. It was silver, this time, golden trim as usual. Her belt was black and woven, flecked with gold, knotted at her side with the ends hanging down one side of her hips. The rifle stayed slung across her back in a holster; leather, and crossed over her front.

“Did someone change your bandages?”

Ash bit back a curse. She wasn’t going to play into Lian’s hand again.

“Someone did. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lian shifted, adjusted her belt. Ash’s eyes followed the movement of her hands, slim and long-fingered. They looked so elegant wrapped around the trigger of her rifle—so graceful slipping around the fabric of her belt. Ash couldn’t tear her eyes away, at least until she caught sight of Lian’s smile. An enemy shouldn’t be allowed to have such a lovely smile! It was unfair! Ash wished, so sharp as to hurt, that Lian would be cruel so she could hate her properly.

As it was, Lian had been nothing but dignified. Merciful.

“I hope you know, War Machine, that it is too dangerous to let you go.” 

Ash tossed her head in an attempt to throw her hair out of her eyes. It flopped right back. She hoped she looked defiant and not merely tired. When she spoke again-- dammit, wasn't she going to be stoic and silent?—she tried her best to sound defiant, too. “Why? Because you know you couldn't hold me again?” 

Lian shook her head. “No. We caught you once, we can catch you again. You know where our camp is. We cannot abide the threat that knowledge represents if we let you go.” 

It made sense, Ash grudgingly admitted to herself. Instead of saying as much she rummaged around in her head for something suitably caustic to rebut it. 

“I caught you once,” she settled on. Lian smiled. It wasn't a nice smile, cold as winter in the Ice Mines. 

“And you let me go. I won't make that mistake.” 

Ash growled. She tossed her head again and her hair fell in front of her eyes even  _more_. Ineffective rage boiled over and she fought the urge to yell. 

“I  _will_  get out of here.” 

Looking up at Lian, on her knees with hair blocking out the most of the Scion, it seemed more of a fantasy than a promise. Lian hummed and took a step forward, and despite herself Ash scooted backward on her knees until the thick wood of the fence pressed against her back. 

“I was always taught to never grab a tiger by the tail,” she mused. 

Ash snorted. Lian leaned down, the slightest bend in her back, searching for eye contact and ultimately chasing for it. “Don't call me an animal.” 

“You're baring your teeth like one,” Lian responded, light and playfully chiding. The ice in her voice melted away She reached her hand out until it nearly touched Ash's face. Ash tilted her head to meet Lian's eyes. 

“And you don't think I'll bite like one?”  She threatened. Still, she angled away even with the knowledge that Lian was too proper, to refined to hurt her directly. A soft touch might hurt more than any bullet. A soft word even more. 

And it  _was_  soft, Lian's next response. She brushed her fingers across Ash's forehead and tucked her hair behind her ear. 

“No.”

Ash wanted to prove her wrong. Touch, human and gentle, held her back. Lian's hand lingered on her temple perhaps longer than necessary and Ash couldn't bring herself to protest. She shut her eyes. It was a small gesture of surrender. To anyone else, Ash would have felt shamed. To the Scion, it felt increasingly like the only logical response. 

“I'm not asking that you join me,” she said. Ash opened her eyes, bit her lip. “Just that you think about it.” 

Ash couldn’t say yes. They both knew as much. This was the second time Lian had reached out to her—twice more than anybody else, Ash surmised. 

“I have my duties.” Less defiant. More tired. Lian sighed, brief and nearly mournful.

“I know. Goodnight, War Machine.”

She backed off and turned. Ash tugged against the ropes, struggling inside herself just as much. When Lian took her first step, she finally spoke up.

“Ash.”

Lian paused. “Hm?”

“My name. Ash.” It was dangerous, giving up her name like this. No more dangerous than being at her mercy, which was already happening, so Ash didn’t see the danger.

When Lian spoke again, Ash could hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight, Ash.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a kudos or a comment if you liked it!


End file.
